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Updated: May 22, 2025
"If he cares it will not be hard. Tell me again, if " "Shut up. What's that again?" The sound was closer now and unmistakably something other than the moan of the wind. Jacqueline turned in great excitement to Mary: "Did McGurk hear that sound down the gorge?" "Yes. I think so. And then he " "My God!" "What is it?" "Pierre, and he's calling for d'you hear?"
The revolver snapped from the hand of McGurk, whirled in a flashing circle, and clanged on the rocks at his feet. The bullet of Pierre had struck the barrel and knocked it cleanly from his hand. It was luck, only luck, that placed that shot, and his own bullet, which had started first, had traveled wild, for there stood Pierre le Rouge, smiling faintly, alert, calm.
Very slowly the head went up and back, and there he stood, not ten paces from her, with the white moon full on his face. The sneer was still there; the eyelid fluttered in scornful derision. And the heart of Jacqueline came thundering in her throat. But she cried in a strong voice: "McGurk, d'you know me?" He did not answer. "You murderer, you night rider! Look again: it's the last of the Boones!"
The foot of the white horse lifted struck the rock. The sound of its fall was lost in the explosion of two guns, and a ring of metal on metal. The revolver snapped from the hand of McGurk, whirled in a flashing circle, and clanged on the rocks at his feet. The bullet of Pierre had struck the barrel and knocked it cleanly from his hand.
It was better to go out and hunt the hunter than to wait there and be tracked down. Jack, for she insisted on it, would ride out with Pierre the next morning and hunt through the hills for the hiding-place of McGurk. Some covert he must have, so as to be near his victims. Nothing else could explain the ease with which he kept on their track.
Dick, Bud, Gandil, take the outside of the place. I'll force the door." Wilbur and the other two raced through the door and raised a shout at once, and then there was a rattle of shots. Big Patterson leaned over Pierre. He said in an awe-stricken voice: "Lad, it's a great work that you've done for all of us, if you've drawn the blood from McGurk."
She could have your scalp, my boy, if she wanted it!" "And McGurk could have yours!" retorted O'Brien with the impudence born of knowledge. The prosecution of Shane O'Connell, which otherwise might have slowly languished and languishing died, took on new life owing to the evidence thus innocently delivered into the hands of the district attorney; in fact it became a cause célèbre.
"I have come to find McGurk." Like some old father-bear watching his cub flash teeth against a stalking lynx, half proud and half fearful of such courage, so the dying cattleman looked at his son. Excitement set a high and dangerous color in his cheek. His eyes were too bright. "Pierre brave boy! Look at me. I ain't no imitation-man, even now, but I ain't a ghost of what I was.
It was rather slow work to stalk that camp-fire, for the big boulders cut off the sight of the red eye time and again, and she had to make little, cautious detours before she found it again, but she kept steadily at her work. Once she stopped, her blood running cold, for she thought that she heard a faint voice blown up the cañon on the wind: "McGurk!"
Peckham had assured the desolated father with a manner subtly suggesting both the profoundest sympathy and the prophetic glories of a juridical revenge in which the name of McGurk would be upon every lip and the picture of the deceased, his family, and the home in which they dwelt would be featured on the front page of every journal. "We'll get him, all right!"
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